Chapter Text
Morning in Caldera often arrived with the early rise of the golden sun, long before most of the city’s inhabitants would wake from restful slumber. For the Fire Lord, sleep ended with the whispered slip of his chamber’s wooden doors and quiet greetings from his chamberlain with steps as light as feathers.
This morning is nowhere near as peaceful as the mornings of Caldera. It isn’t even morning at all.
The sun had risen a few hours ago. Its delicate beams had given way to the sweltering midday rays, drawing sweat from Zuko’s skin. There was no chamberlain or an entourage of maids with heavy velvet robes in tow, nor ceremonious greetings, only the clinging of heavy covers around his shoulders.
His amber eyes are heavy with the night’s embrace and the alcohol’s grip. They flutter against the aggression of bright light prying them open, and if the faint bands of aching weren’t hammering against his head, Zuko would have found it in himself to get up.
He tosses onto his side with painstaking effort, the treacherous weight of his own physique working against him. His arms are sluggish in protest against his command to cover his eyes from the assaulting glare of the light. The wool proves even more stubborn, like a resisting mountain unfazed by his relentless tugging.
Three years of exile, over a decade of ruling, and the gentle nurturance of his beloved Uncle Iroh had shaped Zuko into the leader he was today. The scrawny young man with a short fuse and an appetite for honor had been carved into a monarch of quiet patience and measured judgment. Yet even after the trials and responsibilities he had shouldered from a young age, this cruel blanket is the most difficult trial yet.
With eyes forced shut, Zuko’s patience walks a tightrope, ready to snap at the smallest inconvenience. His calloused fingers clench around the hem of the blanket, yanking the flimsy thing over his poor eyes.
It’s almost victory, until a hoarse groan erupts not too far from him.
The pain thumping through his head vanishes in an instant. His body shoots right up before his mind can process the state of his disheveled robes or the absence of the silk canopy that graced his lavish bed. Adrenaline courses through his sluggish body and forces his amber eyes open.
His bed is nothing but a simple mattress carved from warm-blonde pine wood, smooth at its edges, without any engravings. The covers he grasps onto were layers of white wool with an orange sheet right above it. The room is enclosed by dust-colored walls, with merely a single nightstand present as decoration. Air Temple Island.
But most frightening of all is the breathing figure grumbling to his side. He almost snaps his neck to catch a glimpse of…it, before his palms shield the corners of his eyes from daring to look. As if the slightest tilt of his neck would make reality crash all over him, making whatever this disaster was irreversible.
And as if mocking him, his eyes land on a pair of discarded shoes scattered around the stone floor, along with a chiffon shawl and an emerald band adorned with flowers. The sweltering sun illuminates it all as if to hang his sin before the entire Fire Nation.
What have I done? A gasp fights past his tight lips as his hand combs through the disheveled waves of his hair. The golden crown that marked the Fire Lord was nowhere to be found.
The Fire Lord, who had stomached insults as sharp as daggers before ministers and councilmen, shivered at the thought of glancing at the figure holding his sheets hostage. His body was paralyzed by a stinging bolt of shame that rivaled the ache orbiting his temples. It felt like a crime. The tangled sheets and accessories scattering the floor lay like the corpses of victims who had witnessed his crime.
If this scandal had happened in Caldera, servants would whisper of his trysts through the high ceilings of the palace. By forenoon, ladies-in-waiting would have heard of an affair that threatened the lineage of the Dragon Throne in the form of a bastard. And before the sun could dare to set, the ministers would have turned into loyalist factions to overthrow Zuko for dishonoring the nation.
Yes, he was the Fire Lord. Yes, these men would be too afraid to criticize him. But all it took was an unforgivable mistake such as this to give Ozai loyalists and ministers the chance to justify mutiny.
Whatever had happened beneath the glow of the moon that night appeared in hazy scenes and fuzzy sounds. It was Aang’s wedding…
Candlelight flickered and flashed in his memory. Images ran around like children hiding from parents and consequences. Ceramic bottles of rich honey-scented booze in hand teased a memory that hung right in front of him, but out of reach.
The afterparty…Katara, Aang, Sokka, and Toph-
Another groan tears through his train of thought. This time, it erupts from the depths of her chest, or rather, stomach. The figure rolls off the mattress to land on the stone floors of the temple before Zuko even realizes his undergarments are fully intact. A crime hadn’t been committed––the Fire Nation wouldn’t be marred in disgrace––at least, for now.
A metal object crashes against the foot of the humble bed, its bottom scraping the stone floor. Then, as violently as the groan had erupted, a belting blech stops his thoughts from spiraling into oblivion. And whatever hit the metal basin is unpleasant enough for Zuko to decide he never wanted to know what had escaped the pits of her stomach.
Zuko had seen his life flash before his eyes only a few minutes ago. But he somehow finds it in himself to help.
The person crouching down at the foot of the bed is a woman covered in green silk and wild jet-black hair streaming across her back and shoulders. Around her shoulders are the velvet robes sculpted for the body of the Fire lord. Toph?!
“Breathe…” He speaks with a voice hoarse with a lack of use, partially surprised at his ability to speak with a degree of coherence. His calloused hand rubs small circles against her back. The same hand that had dismissed corruption and signed treaties for peace presses firmly against her back as another wave of nausea leaves her body, racking with violence.
And if bands of pain weren’t hammering against her skull with devastating force, Toph would have had Zuko’s back lodged into a stone wall.
Right before her chin could dive into the opening of the pail again, his fingers swept strands of hair into a careful bundle in his fist, far away from last night’s dinner. His fingers weave themselves into the disheveled nest of silky hair with a gentle grip––strong enough to hold them in place, but not enough to tug at her scalp. He follows the unpredictable bob of her head while she slips between incoherent curses towards the world and retching.
The rim of the metal pail screamed in unison with the racket her stomach made, curving under the grip of her clenched fists. Its thin metal frame and the gentle touch of his warm skin on her back were the only anchor to sanity. She treated it with as much respect as the consequences of her actions gave her now.
The last time Zuko had truly spent time with her was over a decade ago. Back when she was a young teenager with an abrasive confidence and that youthful pitch. So the sight of her hunched down to pay for her actions was almost shocking, despite Sokka having mentioned her legendary tolerance in passing.
She wasn’t even legally allowed to drink alcohol back then.
“Just how much did you drink? Drinking a lot isn’t good for you-”
A whine cuts through, begging him to zip it. His lips purse into a pout. He is merciful enough to grant her an ounce of peace. You deserve this much...
Toph is as tough as nails and as stubborn as the tectonic plates of the earth. Students trembled at her orders for sparring matches, and metal had no choice but to bend at her will. It was only fitting for her defeat to be at the hands of her own body. The same body that could haul boulders without a sweat now drags every muscle down to rock bottom with each attempt to stand up.
The world spins right beneath her feet, and she feels the rotations most in her head. All she can do is endure it, helpless to the crushing weight of the world. Take in the burning sensation of hot acid sliding up her throat. The rancid smell of digestion. The shooting pain threatens to shatter her skull. It feels as good as getting boulders chucked at her head.
It almost makes her regret uncorking that bottle of wine the night before. Even more than her regret of what had led her to do so.
Just one more drink. I can’t do this sober.
Her suffering isn’t rushing itself. It takes its sweet time, enough time for Zuko to sober up substantially. His faint ache of a headache paled in comparison to the misery she was unleashing onto the poor pail. He reaches into his inner robe and pulls out a silk gauze handkerchief embellished with the insignia of the Fire Nation. The small patch of fabric was light yet heavy with the luxury of the finest silk possibly harvested, its pattern crafted by the best embroiderers in all the lands. His personal handkerchief.
Without an ounce of fanfare, the cool pad is mopped across the sides of her temples with devastating care. His hand, heavy with the power of fire-bending and that of a sovereign, collects beads of sweat with each swipe. His hand moves with the precision of a sculptor tracing the ridges of marble—careful enough to preserve its beauty, restrained enough to remember the force that had shaped it.
Her misery fills the air, through the sour smell of acid and wine. Any normal person would have stepped out. Zuko couldn’t find it in himself to be disgusted even in the slightest. He sits in silence, diligently wiping away the sweat that tried to drown her—never once letting go of her hair, even when it pooled in his palm. Whatever happened last night, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.
When the last ember of strength finally burns out, what little remains of her dignity and energy evaporates from her body. Her forehead presses against the cool metal rim, shoulders sagging to her sides as ragged panting replaces the retching. There was nothing for her to vomit anymore.
She shuts her eyes tight, skin crinkling around them, because the pressure keeps the stinging pain at bay. It doesn’t help that her body is beyond confused. Beads of sweat race down her cheeks as mental fortitude fights back against a gag, keeping her from spilling her guts out. Yet her body is shivering against the cool breeze entering through the windows. The steady dabs of a damp cloth brushing against her neck, wiping away the sweat clinging to her skin, were her only anchor from fully spiraling down.
He waits for moments to pass before stepping back. When he pulls away, he lays her hair back over her shoulders, now breathing much slower than the heaving it went through before. Just seconds later, he returns with a pitcher and a cup of water in hand. With a controlled stream of heat radiating off his palms, he heats it carefully until steam almost begins to rise.
With an outstretched arm, he brings the cup closer to her hand before she can accuse him of treating her like a helpless child. She doesn’t move from her crouching hunch, breathing deeply to stop herself from losing all control again. Eventually, a hand reaches out to grab the cup from him, trembling slightly as she brings it close to her lips.
His hand immediately hovers beneath the cup.
“I–I can do it.”
“I know, I know,” he raises his hand in defense, “ I was just about to heat it more. That way it’s easier on you…”
His warm hands meet her chilled ones. Instead of taking the cup, he covers the back of her hand with his palm. The heat radiating from his firebending energy warms her chilly hands up ever so slightly, while secretly sharing the burden of the cup’s weight.
She chugs the water down like a man starved for days. The warm liquid was an embrace that washed away the rancid taste of sour acid on her tongue. It slips through the nooks of her mouth, down to her throat, and into a rumbling quake that was her emptied stomach. It gives her a glimmer of strength, the kind that prevails after a storm.
Zuko lets go, only offering more of the warm escape with unyielding silence. Yet his sweaty palm hovered beneath hers––waiting for her to finish. If her shaky hands gave out in the middle of her drinking? The water would be anywhere but on her.
The cup would have crashed onto the stone floor if Zuko hadn’t been waiting beneath her hands.
“Yeah- yeah… rub it in, Sparky…”
His eyebrow raises.
Toph doesn’t need vision to feel his pity all over her.
“This….” She flicks her wrist to point to her legs, then her head, “...is a one-time thing. I can handle a few drinks…I just had a bit…”
His eyebrows furrow. “You drank until you blacked out––we blacked out. That was the most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done; too much alcohol can have consequences on your body-“
“It was a wedding. What was I supposed to do, drink leaf juice?-”
“-drink responsibly.”
“Oh wow, everyone’s a critic, huh?! Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Almighty Firelord. You’re acting like you didn’t drink with me!-” Toph doesn’t lift her head to face him. Her forehead just presses firmly against her folded arms around the pail. “I don’t care what you and Aang say. I’m grown enough to drink.”
She doesn’t dare face him.
“Toph, I’m not saying you can’t drink-“
“Give it up, Zuko!” She winces beneath her folded arms.
He huffs sharply, his jaw dropping to the floor. “I’m being serious, Toph. That amount of drinking can have adverse effects on you physically and mentally…” He lifts the towel back to her skin; this time, patting it along the lines of her neck. “You wanted to talk last night, what was it-”
“Stop.”
His hand pauses against her temple. The damp towel absorbs his warmth and her regret.
“...we talked last night-”
“Zuko.” The metal curls.
“I just want to say-”
“Drop it.”
“No, you don’t-”
“Zuko.”
“Toph,” he tests the words. She could have slammed him onto a wall with how much he was pushing it. “Whatever I said…I’m sorry if I wasn’t helpful… or that I can’t remember.”
She doesn’t respond. Her steady breaths fill the air between them. Zuko can’t tell if it’s quiet acceptance or burbling anger. The same Fire Lord whose voice echoed through throne rooms before councils was nothing but a whisper before her anger.
Ministers could be told to halt their speeches. The Greatest Earthbender, even in her state, could and would crush his bones with boulders.
“Katara made food downstairs.” She says, never meeting his face.
Warmth blooms in his chest. “Do you wanna eat downstairs or here?”
“I’m not some sick infant who needs your coddling…” She hisses, biting the sting of her headache.
“We can go down together.”
She hopes to nod, but only grunts with her brows scrunched. Through a small pillar of earth, she pushes herself up––right into Zuko’s palms hovering around her waist and elbow. His hands close enough to lean onto, yet far enough to trust her ability to carry herself.
Toph walks at the pace of a snail sloth––arms spread slightly outwards to grasp onto air for balance. Zuko and the scent of sandalwood hover like a net. And if she wasn’t simultaneously contemplating making the earth swallow her up with each careful step, Zuko would have been kissing the wall with his cheek.
The vibrations through the stone floors of the air temple were present in theory. But the ache in her head and the discord in her hearing mingled with her perception of the vibrations. So naturally, the waves of vibrations her senses trusted to whisper the world to her were fuzzy ringings at best. She can estimate the position of an object within the space, but without the precision that has saved her in battle.
Luckily, pain consumes her before helplessness can. Because at the very least, the pain is grounding––she has something to be angry at. It keeps her busy from the thoughts she had tried to outrun before. It’s working. Maybe too well.
At least Zuko is there in case she decides her body has been robbed of too much reason by alcohol, not because he, like her parents, believes she was incapacitated. The beating of his heart calls to her in the mess of vibrations coming right at her. She feels it through the earth, fuzzy, yet steady.
Somewhere in between clumsy steps and understanding silence, hers synchronizes with his.
When they make it to the dining room after an eternity of slow but steady steps, they meet Katara, Aang, Sokka, and Suki waiting for them around a round table. Sokka’s forehead is pressed against his neatly folded arms lying on the table. Suki sits next to him with a crooked smile pointed towards Zuko and Toph while her arm wraps around the miserable man. Katara was hunched over a bowl of what seemed to be seaweed noodles with circles under her eyes, while Aang, with the same dark circles, devoured cups of fruit tarts with the etiquette of a child who hadn’t been introduced to utensils yet.
“...morning, you two…” Suki musters, parting her lips for a bite of Katara’s noodles. Her thumbs swipe gentle circles over Sokka’s shivering shoulder. The support helps him keep the food down his throat.
Zuko nods politely at the woman. Then he guides Toph to one of the empty seats at the table, pulling the wooden chair for her without much attention. She plops herself onto its wooden seat with slumped shoulders, rivaling Sokka’s misery right next to her. Zuko cracks a smile before turning on his heels to reach for the two bowls sitting on the wooden counter. Aang is already smirking, his gaze pacing between Toph and Sokka.
The Avatar lifts his face from the center of a tart. His cheeks puffed with the sweet treat, berry filling smeared across them. “I have to say, Toph, Sokka, I did warn you about drinking too much last night…especially you, Toph.” Then he turns to the grumbling Sokka pulling at his hair across from him, “The monks used to always say-”
Before Aang could open his mouth for another lecture, the earth beneath his chair tipped him sideways. A ball of air saved his head from crashing onto the floor.
“HA! Beat that-” Sokka croaks, pointing an accusing finger at Aang.
“Hey, what gives?!"
“Look here, Twinkletoes,” Her hand drags across her face, coming to rest against her head. “I only had that much booze because you and Sugar Queen over here couldn’t keep it down enough to let any of us sleep!”
Aang’s face almost combusts.
A chunk of fish lodges itself into Katara’s throat. “Excuse me?!”
Toph snaps her neck right at Katara, whose face was fighting between purple and red, although she instantly regretted it. “You heard me!”
“Guys, please-” Sokka whispers. Suki’s hands attempt to shield his ears from the auditory assaults.
“T-t-toph, you can’t just say that!” Aang tries to scold her. His face is already as red as an apple.
“It was their wedding night; we can let it pass.” Zuko offers.
“You see-” Aang rubs at his shoulder.
“No, I can’t. I’m blind.”
“Katara and I love each other very much, and sometimes people who love each other-”
“AANG!” The women gasp.
“- No, no, please. Love is a natural thing, and we shouldn’t be ashamed to show affection. Even when sometimes, it’s embarrassing-”
The fish safely slips into Katara’s stomach before Aang can bury them into a pit. “Alright, that's enough talking, just eat your noodles!” The seaweed is shoved right into his mouth mid-sentence for everyone’s safety.
BLEH-
“Whisper…please…” Sokka whines. Suki pats his back carefully before he can throw out another round of last night’s drinks onto the floor.
“Shhh, shhh, you’re ok…” Suki whispers.
Katara’s eyes twitch. “Right on my new rug. Great.”
Sensing water right about to start boiling over, Aang waterbends the rancid slime into a bin before the smell can settle over them. He gulps down the mouthful of seaweed and attempts a grin to keep Katara from exploding. It works.
Zuko returns with two warm bowls in hand and leaves to set a kettle of freshly brewed tea onto the table. “Drink this.” He pours the sage green liquid into a warm cup and sets it beside her bowl. “Uncle brews this blend of tea to relieve the symptoms of alcohol. It will help with your head. Does it hurt as much?” He whispers.
“Just a bit…” Like hell.
“You should be able to eat now, at least. I can brew more tea later if you still need more.” Zuko adds. He slides the warm bowl of seaweed to her. Unlike Sokka’s, which had hardened into place from neglect, steam curls right above the surface of the broth. Courtesy of his firebending.
“How’d you get this from your Uncle?”
Zuko cocks an eyebrow, “Music night on the ship during my years of banishment.”
“So the old guy let you drink away? Huh, I didn’t know he was cool like that.”
“No, I learned from watching him. I never-”
“Yeah-yeah, zip it.”
Toph plants her elbow onto the table while her hand cradles her head heavy with lead. Then, she digs right into the savory goodness of the bowl. While seaweed was far from the taste of dough noodles she usually inhaled, its saltiness is enough to satisfy the hunger vomiting has induced. Anything was better than sea prunes.
Her aggressive slurping earns scolding from Katara and begging to stop from Sokka. Zuko only chuckles to himself.
“We can hold off on the three-day vacation I promised you…” Zuko says, a smile forming on his lips, “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy you food and extend our trip.”
“You better,” Toph says in between munches.
You really are something, Toph.